Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Make love, not war!

Apparently, someone in the Air Force tried to take that catchphrase a little TOO literally: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,281217,00.html

3 comments:

Lisa said...

Hee hee. This was mentioned on the radio last week. My first thought was, "Hey! That was in the book I just read!" Seriously, Hal Duncan's _Ink_, which is a sequel to the equally odd _Vellum_ has a "story-line" about the future wars that includes "orgone" weaponry that affects those hit by the rays/bombs with out-of-control immediate-need lust.

Liz said...

They need to drop the "gay bomb" on the Rupublican National Convention...It's too bad Falwell died--I would have paid a lot of money to see him get it on with Pat Robertson...*evil grin*

i.m.small said...

PASSIONATE NIGHTS LET US ENJOY

Passionate nights of steaming love
Let us enjoy, because
The end is nearing fast enough
Nor we forestall it thus:

But actions of my government
Give rise to enemies
That may well harbor the intent
To ruin such times as these.

Bombing a people to a rubble
Does not engender love,
While--in a world so rife with trouble
Where every day is rough--

It seems we can do little more
Than keep some love alive
Domestic--even though the roar
Of hatred war does drive.

It is but moonlight (or a streetlamp)
Now filters through the window,
While naked flesh-on-flesh so we tramp
In joy--but not a sin do:

I press, caress, and you return
With heaving sighs, the same:
It is a passion, so we burn
Without a sense of shame.

So I will play, and kiss those parts
Of you, a joy to know--
Not quite communion of true hearts
But pleasure, even so.

Ah, words need not report, in detail
What I do, as so makes
Your body writhe--not come by retail,
But joy it is awakes,

Fantastic wild the ecstasy,
But we need not report it,
Wild naked, sweet gentility:
The editors can sort it.

These pleasures are but born of love:
We pray to God our tithe;
But elsewhere rude conditions shove
And other bodies writhe.

The spurting is from blood released,
A body truly dying,
While policy is but appeased,
Unto our own guilt tying;

For ours the government has done
Egregious harm against
Innocents--why, beneath the sun
Was ever war commenced?